


as time goes by

by Elizabeth



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angsty Schmoop, Bittersweet, Classical Music, Graduate School, Inspired by Call Me By Your Name, M/M, Pining, Seaside, Short One Shot, Summer Love, Summer Romance, Summer Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24830842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: "Arthur is everything golden: warmth and sunlight. It kisses his hair like a blessing, and he laughs at Gaius’ jokes. He sunbathes through the afternoon, drowsing by the inlet on the jagged shore, and Merlin digs his hands into the wet, coarse sand and does not let himself stare. The days, for now, are long."Self-indulgent Call Me By Your Name inspired short fic, in which Merlin is a piano student and Arthur comes to spend the summer with Gaius by the sea. Written for the summer solstice.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 70





	as time goes by

**Author's Note:**

> It's been awhile since I've read or watched CMBYN, but summer always makes me think of it, so here you go.
> 
> Both of them are of age here. College students.

Arthur comes for the summer.

Merlin knows it means little to him—a season by the seaside, an old friend of his father as host. He has options, always, of where to go. He is with them for the summer, and Merlin can do little but watch and listen. He tries to stay far away. Arthur will be gone soon, when the days grow shorter and the nights are long, when dawn is quick and dusk quicker still.

He takes a car from the train station alone, and arrives in the afternoon. His shoulders are broad, and he smiles like he has only ever known joy, even though Merlin knows it isn’t true.

It is best, Merlin thinks, to stay far, far away. He leads him to his bedroom. He calls him down to dinner. He does not watch him slide his thumb along the edge of a glass. He does not listen to him hum as he leans back in the threadbare chair.

Arthur is everything golden: warmth and sunlight. It kisses his hair like a blessing, and he laughs at Gaius’ jokes. He sunbathes through the afternoon, drowsing by the inlet on the jagged shore, and Merlin digs his hands into the wet, coarse sand and does not let himself stare. The days, for now, are long.

The nights are short. The air is hot, and even its stirring is a warm breath against Merlin’s back. He lies awake and listens to the soft rustle of sheets float in from the next room. He wonders if Arthur’s sweat cools him, if his skin would feel warm to his fingertips, or if he pressed his face to his chest, it would be a relief.

Merlin listens to them talk. Gaius tells Arthur stories from his youth, things he has never told his nephew. Arthur asks questions he never thought to ask: _The first time you fell in love. Your favourite memory of your mother. When have you been most afraid?_

Arthur answers, too. He has a girl, back home, whom he might love. He never knew his mother. He does not share any fears. Merlin listens from the shadows. “Are you going to say?” Arthur asks, finally turning to him, days late, looking him fully in the face.

“I don’t know,” Merlin answers, though he doesn’t know to which question. He looks away. “I saw my mother at Christmas.”

“You live here for school,” Arthur says. “Why are you still here now?”

“My tutor works year-round.”

“Will I ever hear you play?” He gestures to the piano. His eyes are fixed on Merlin.

Merlin looks back. “Do you want to?”

“Yes,” Arthur answers, and his blue eyes are keen. Merlin doesn’t know what he’s answering, either.

He plays for them on a Thursday. He plays Liszt’s Consolations, and at the end, Arthur asks him to repeat number three.

Merlin smiles and plays Debussy instead.

Arthur shakes his head. His laugh is a quick release of air. “Okay then.”

It’s a small, upright piano in the corner of the study. Merlin wonders if he’ll ever listen to him in a room with the acoustics right.

He walks to the shoreline at sunrise. The seabirds wade in the amber surf, and cry out as they climb to the heavens. He doesn’t see Arthur until he turns to go back. They are quiet, and the gravel path crunches beneath their feet.

It feels like waiting for a package to arrive. Merlin watches the desk calendar pages crumple, one by one. Gaius talks to Arthur about Goethe. Merlin reads novels and runs scales.

“Is it always like this here?” Arthur asks. The sun breaks free from the horizon, an orange ball, still hazy enough to watch. Their shoulders almost touch.

His skin, Merlin feels, is not cool. _Perhaps he burns more than I_. “Like what?”

“Soft,” Arthur says. “Sultry. Slow.”

“Sultry?” Merlin smiles. “No,” he says. “It isn’t always like that at all.”

They stare at each other until the sun is bright, and Merlin walks back to the house. He leaves Arthur at the beach, watching the tide play.

Merlin rides his bicycle to the bakery on the solstice. Tourists visit the circles and menhirs, and the village streets are littered with flower petals. He waits in line for kouign-amann and watches them pass in festival garb. He feels something in the air, like a presence. It thickens around him.

At home, Arthur stands on the balcony and watches him. He closes the garden gate and breathes in the humidity.

They grow lavender outside the kitchen door. He places a sprig on the plate by Arthur’s pastry, and wishes it was a spring violet. June is passing. Outside, a goldfinch sings.

A storm comes at night. It blows in from the southwest, with walls of rain and a gale. They bolt the shutters before the power goes out. Merlin lights a candle beside his bed.

“What are you reading?” Arthur asks from the doorway.

“Just a mystery.”

“Just a mystery,” Arthur repeats. He pushes it up and reads the title. “Seems perfect for a night like this.” He sits beside him on Merlin’s bed. “What’s it about?”

“Murder,” Merlin says and turns the page.

“How exciting.” He watches him. “You look so pale. We should go to the beach tomorrow.”

“It’s going to rain.”

Arthur waits for Merlin to look up at him. “We should go anyway,” he says. “I don’t care.”

They sit on a rock and watch the breakers. The wind whips around them, and Merlin closes his eyes and feels it against his face.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” Arthur asks. “You know all about me—my childhood, my philosophies, even my future plans. I’ve told Gaius everything and I know you hear. Half the time I think I’m talking to you, instead.”

Merlin rubs the salt spray back through his hair. He stares at his wrist for a moment, and then takes Arthur’s hand. “Every day will be shorter now,” he says. “Minutes. Seconds, really.”

“Then why are we wasting time?”

Merlin stares at him. His eyes are tired.

“I’m afraid of this,” Arthur admits. “This is what I’m scared of.”

“Of me touching you?”

“No. Of never meeting anyone quite like you again.”

Time speeds. Arthur’s skin tastes like the ocean. He smells like summer heat. He writes poetry on Merlin’s back. Merlin presses their bodies together as if they might merge. He traces the freckles on Arthur’s thigh with his tongue.

Minute by minute, the nights grow longer.

Merlin plays Ravel in the mornings. At night, he plays Chopin. He says, “I don’t know where I’ll go when I graduate.”

Arthur bites his lip and doesn’t reply. Gaius suggests changes for his manuscript. He leans against a beech tree and makes revisions, pausing every so often to look up through its branches. Merlin’s heart beats faster as the sun sets, and he pulls Arthur into his arms.

August should be sluggish, but the clock ticks on. Arthur lies on his back in the garden, watching clouds. “What if I don’t go back?” he asks.

“One more year,” Merlin reminds him.

“It’s just a dissertation. I can write anywhere.”

Merlin kisses the inside of his wrist. “You have your ticket?”

“Mm hmm.”

“I’ll walk you to the station.”

The train only stops for minutes. Merlin presses one of his scarves into Arthur’s hand. “I’ll… I’ll call you,” Arthur says. His voice shakes.

Merlin presses his forehead to Arthur’s, and then steps away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I'd love to know your thoughts, if you feel like sharing. <3 <3 
> 
> I don't know if I'll do like AA and come back to this later. Let me know if you'd like to see more.


End file.
